


Spreading Darkness

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Series: Remembrance [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26442697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by UluithielFrodo finds that his memories interfere with lovemaking
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Series: Remembrance [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922128
Kudos: 3
Collections: Least Expected





	Spreading Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: Frodo and Sam do not belong to me; I belong to them. The writing, however, is mine  
> Story Notes: How does a victim keep from becoming a perpetrator?

Minas Tirith  
April 28, 1419 (in the Shire reckoning)

> " 'I doubt very much,' [Glorfindel] said, 'if your friends would be in danger if you were not with them . . . It is you, Frodo, and that which you bear that brings us all in peril.' " _Fellowship of the Ring_ , p 223

In the dark hour before morning, Sam woke alone in the big bed. After an instant of panic he saw Frodo standing at the window of their chamber. The starlight made of him a statue of alabaster, the smooth pallor of his skin accentuated by the mop of inky curls. But there were lines of strain across the shoulders, and Sam's brow creased worriedly. "Is something the matter Frodo dear?" he called softly. "Wouldn't you like to come back to bed? You'll catch a chill standing there."

Frodo turned. "Alright, Sam," he said, his voice flat. He slid under the coverlet and took Sam in his arms, but there was no tenderness in his embrace.

Sam stroked his fingers down Frodo's face, cradling the jaw in his hands. "What's worrying you me darlin?" he whispered.

Frodo's harsh laugh splintered the darkness. "Nothing, Sam." He reached down to Sam's groin and grasped him, almost roughly. "Let's make love, shall we?"

Troubled, Sam began to stroke Frodo's back, but Frodo's hands were peremptory, abrupt. His left hand stroked Sam's rising erection while the right wandered across Sam's chest. In spite of his uneasiness, Sam felt passion rising; he couldn't help it, not with Frodo in his arms. He tried to capture Frodo's mouth for a kiss, but Frodo pulled away and sucked almost savagely at Sam's neck.

Then Frodo's hand -- the right one -- reached for his nipple. Seizing the tender nub between his second and fourth fingers, Frodo twisted it sharply. Sam gasped. "Ouch!" he cried.

Frodo's eyes turned up to him, pupils enormous, only a thin rim of the lambent blue visible. "Will you do that to me, Sam?" he asked softly. " Please?"

Sam began to tremble. "I don't _want_ to hurt you," he whispered.

Frodo's eyes went blank. "All right then," he said, and his lips began to slide down Sam's chest.

When he took Sam into his mouth, Sam sighed, his pleasure returning. For a few blissful moments he rode on the waves of sensation; but there was still something wrong. Frodo was taking him _too_ deeply, gagging. Sam raised his head and saw Frodo's face, intent with dark purpose, tears starting from his eyes, choking himself on Sam's body.

As if sensing Sam's protest, Frodo raised himself and slid one leg over Sam's loins. Sam was surprised: since the terrible events in Cirith Ungol Frodo had not taken Sam into himself; Sam had suspected he might never be able to perform that act of love again. He was perplexed at Frodo's abrupt manner, and troubled by his mood, but he reached to the bedside table for the little vial of scented oil.

Frodo struck it from his hand and, holding Sam fast, began to force himself down onto him. A long hiss of pain issued from his lips at the abrasive chafing of too-dry tissues, and a repellant exaltation shone in his eyes, rendering his face more unlovely than Sam could have believed possible.

Suddenly Sam was furious. He lifted Frodo and laid him roughly on the bed.

"Now this won't continue!" he cried indignantly. "I say I don't want to hurt you, and then you use me to hurt yourself! I won't have it, I tell you." But at the sight of Frodo's face, pale and vacant, his anger fled. "What's troubling you, my love?" he whispered. "Can't you tell your Sam? And don't say 'nothing'", he added quickly, seeing the automatic denial in Frodo's face, "because there's _something_ going on here. You're not yourself, sir."

The flick of formality brought Frodo's head up, eyes clearing of their dark mists, and he looked straight at Sam. Sam's face was grave, concerned, intent, but there was no censure there, no judgment, no blame. All the blame was within _him_ , Frodo realized, and he sighed. Sometimes he longed for others to revile him. It would be a relief to hear the words of accusation spoken aloud. Perhaps then the invective would not be so loud inside his head.

Frodo rolled away, clasping his hands under his head and raising a knee as a further barrier. The posture was deceptively casual. "Do you know _why_ Merry was tortured?" he asked mildly. His tone was light, conversational; but some malignant purpose lurked beneath his voice.

Sam felt the hair rise on his nape. "Because that's what Orcs do," he said. "Please, Frodo, you're not making sense."

Frodo turned his face to Sam, an eerie smile twisting his lips. "That's right, Sam, you weren't there. I forgot that you didn't know. Would you like to hear _why_ Merry was captured by the Orcs?"

Sam felt a thrill of dread shimmer up his spine. Frodo had told him only the barest facts about that terrible day on Amon Hen. Never had he spoken of Merry's and Pippin's part on that day. Sam had not supposed Frodo knew what had happened to his kinsmen until they were reunited at the Fields of Cormallen. Now, his heart heavy with foreboding, Sam settled himself cross-legged in the centre of the bed so he could watch Frodo carefully. "Tell me then," he said.

"After I escaped from Boromir, I saw a vision," Frodo began. "I saw Barad-Dur, and I saw thousands and thousands of Orcs massing at its gates, and I saw the Eye, and It almost saw me." His voice trailed off, and his right hand wandered to his breast, seeking That which was gone forever. Catching himself, he pinned the mutilated hand under his head again and resumed. "I had just wits enough to pull the Ring off before the Eye found me, and I fell from the stone, and as I lay there gasping, Aragorn found me.

"I ran from him, Sam. All I could think was that the Ring was destroying all the Fellowship. I knew, I _knew_ that Aragorn would try to take It from me. So I . . . I tempted him. 'Would _you_ destroy It?' I taunted, and I held It out to him."

Here Frodo's face softened a bit. "Aragorn knelt at my feet, and closed my hand round the Ring, and pushed it away. Then he sent me to Mordor alone -- with his blessing." His eyes glinted at Sam. "Which is more than _you_ were able to do." Sam mustered a tiny smile. They had been over this ground many times.

"Just then," Frodo continued, "Aragorn saw that Sting was glowing. He sent me flying down the hill while he held off a whole company of Orcs.

"I ran down the hill, tripping and stumbling, and took cover behind a tree as dozens of huge Orcs pounded by. Then I heard a whisper. It was Merry, and Pippin. They were hiding in a tiny cave, and they called to me to join them, to hide with them, to be safe."

Frodo's face twisted with the pain of the moment, feeling it again. "I couldn't even speak," he said. "I just shook my head. And Merry . . . Merry understood. He knew I was leaving, and he knew why.

"Pippin leaped up -- just in time to see a company of Orcs bearing down on them. And Merry. . . . he said. . ." Frodo's voice quavered. "He said 'Go, Frodo!', and then he began _shouting_. He shouted and waved until the Orcs saw him, and then he and Pippin ran away, drawing the Orcs away from _me_."

Frodo sat up abruptly, grasping his hair in both hands and pulling it savagely. "It's my fault!" he keened. "They were captured protecting _me_! It's because of _me_ that Merry was tortured! It's all because of _me_! His ragged nails left red wheals as he clawed his skin in a paroxysm of self-loathing. "I knew, way back in Lorien, what I had to do, but I was too afraid to do it. I knew that I had to go on alone. But I couldn't. I was too cowardly. And because of my cowardice, Boromir was tempted into dishonor and lured into death. Because of my cowardice, Merry and Pippin were captured by the Orcs and tortured. Ai! My little cousin Merry, used by that horrible Orc! And all because of _me_!"

Sam tried to bite back the automatic protest that rose to his lips. He knew that argument at this stage was worse than futile. In the strictest sense, Frodo was right. All of their travails had come about because they were protecting him, the Ringbearer. But he could not remain silent.

"Now I can't let this be staying as you leave it, sir," he began earnestly, "when you know good and well that every one of us in the Fellowship was with you because we love you. Don't you remember what Merry said at Crickhollow? He said 'you can't trust us to let you face trouble alone'. And in Rivendell, both Merry and Pippin took on terrible when Master Elrond said they wasn't to go. And even Gandalf took their part. Don't you remember what he said, that you should trust to friendship rather than to wisdom? And it seems to me you're not trusting in neither just now, begging your pardon.

"This about blaming yourself for what happened to Merry is just not right. You know Merry doesn't feel that way, he doesn't! He came with the Fellowship because he loves you. And he did what he did at Amon Hen because he loves you. And he loves you now."

Frodo's frenzy had calmed, and he was staring at Sam. Sam gulped and continued.

"Frodo, I'm hoping you'll excuse me for saying this, but if you're thinking you could have managed this Quest without the rest of the Fellowship, well, you're just flat wrong. And none of us -- nay, not even Boromir! -- would have wanted not to be a part of what you've done."

Frodo swirled from the bed to pace the stone-flagged chamber. Moonlight glinted in his hair, and shone on his fine skin, and made the small scar on his left shoulder shine with a cold light. At length he halted, staring into the embers of the fire. Again Sam saw the maimed right hand grope unconsciously for the Ring, then fall back.

And Sam knew suddenly, with a knowledge that wrung his heart, that the Ringbearer would always Bear the Ring; could never rescind his claim on It.

Sam slipped from the bed and approached the unyielding form of his beloved. Brushing away an inky curl, he kissed Frodo softly in the hollow of his throat, just above the cold scar of the Morgul-blade. Slowly, barely touching, Sam trailed tiny kisses up the white column of throat. At last he cradled his master's face in his hands and gently pressed his lips to the burning dry eyelids. Frodo's rigid spine slumped, and he allowed himself to sag into Sam's strong arms. Sam lifted him, laid him in the bed, and rocked him very tenderly until, finally, Frodo slept.

the end

> _Like a baby being born_   
>  _like a beast with its horn_   
>  _I have torn everyone who reached out for me_
> 
> _But I swear by this song_   
>  _and by all that I have done wrong_   
>  _that I will make it all up to thee_
> 
> Leonard Cohen Bird on a Wire


End file.
